


tidings of comfort and joy

by ellekay



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Clothed Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellekay/pseuds/ellekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piers survived, but most days wishes he hadn't. Jake finds himself stateside with nowhere to go and no choice but to ask for help. Merry Christmas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	tidings of comfort and joy

**Author's Note:**

> There might be another chapter to this. Feedback is always loved!

Jake has pictures of his father.

He has surveillance photos from years ago, blurry and distant. He has candid photos from his time with S.T.A.R.S., he has awkwardly posed pictures from the Umbrella archives. He has a handful of audio recordings, tapped phone calls of his father organizing trades, ordering executions, threatening and extorting.

He didn't have to ask for them. He'd received them in the mail from people he didn't know, had them forwarded to him by Sherry, even run into Chris in Kandahar and received an envelope full of snapshots.

Jake looks through them sometimes, when he has warm, dry shelter and a light. He pulls them from one of the saddlebags on his bike, pulls the stack out of the baggie he keeps them dry in, and slowly files through, lingers on some longer than others. There's one of the S.T.A.R.S. team outside of a restaurant. This one is different because he seems to be part of the group rather than an outsider. He seems human. Jake likes to tell himself that it doesn't bother him. That maybe he wasn't always a pure and heartless monster. He tries not to think about how things could have been different.

He travels constantly. Only a handful of possessions have to stay with him at all times. His gun, enough ammunition to last him for a couple of days. His cell, so he can get intel from his contacts about where he's needed. His little ziplock bag of photos. His bike takes him everywhere, he steals when he has to. He survives, and he atones.

\----

Piers takes a fistful of pills every day. He tells his doctors to fuck off with the narcotics, the anti-depressants. Anything that isn't directly geared toward reconstructing lost tissue, rebuilding the pieces of his body that were corrupted. His progress crawls. He's blind in his right eye. The C-virus had saved him as much as it had tried to kill him. The incredible regenerative properties coupled with the Muller vaccine had allowed him to keep his arm. The level of atrophy means that he can barely lift it. At least a year of physical therapy, they tell him, before he'll regain basic function. He isn't even given a desk job to keep him sane. Paid rehabilitative leave.

He's alone. It doesn't bother him. The quiet certainly doesn't grate on his sanity. The stillness of his apartment doesn't let his mind drift to what it felt like to drown, to accept death. He doesn't want to talk. 

Chris comes to visit him. It isn't awkward. It keeps him level. Chris tells him about the latest operations in excruciating detail because Piers needs to know. Every now and then, Piers will catch a peripheral glimpse of the guilt in Chris' eyes. He doesn't want it, and Chris knows. To his credit, he keeps it well-hidden when he knows Piers is looking, because Piers made his choice and would have died at peace with himself if things had gone differently.

Piers is the lamb that survived the slaughter, and he won't accept apologies for the sacrifice he made.

\----

Jake calls to hear Sherry's voice. He worries he'll wake her. ( _What time zone am I in anyway?_ ) She answers after a ring and half. A voice in the background calls out _is that him_? She runs into another room to get away. Jake smiles.

"Sorry. That's Claire." He wonders if Claire dislikes him the way Chris does.

"Don't worry about it. How are you holdin' up, Supergirl?"

"I'm okay. It's been quiet. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just, uh..." _Lonely._

"Yeah." He can almost hear her chewing on her lip. "When will I see you?"

She asks every time. He hedges every time, but tonight he hesitates.

"Soon."

"Really?" He's afraid to make a promise. "I can get you a passport, visa, plane ticket, whatever you need."

"Easy, tiger, I can handle it."

They chat for a few more minutes before he says goodbye. He wants to go home. Home died when he was fifteen, and he can't explain why he feels at home around her, or when he feels an ache when she talks about her friends, her little patchwork family.

He catches two hours of sleep and dreams about his mother. _Don't hate your father. He's not a bad man._

\----

Piers curses when he drops a glass. It's been six months, he should be able hold onto a glass. Of course Chris has to be there to witness it. He doesn't so much offer to help as ask where the broom and dustpan are. Piers points and tries not to show his frustration.

"There's something I wanted to ask you," Chris says over the clinking sound of broken glass.

"What's that, Captain?"

"My sister is having a Christmas party next week. She thought you might like to come."

Piers doesn't answer. He barely sees anyone outside of his doctors and Chris. He doesn't want the questions or the pity.

"Don't feel pressured."

 _Because God forbid anyone push me._ "I'll think about it."

\----

It's December 22nd by the time Jake crawls out of a cargo hold on the shores of the U.S. It's cold as hell out. He walks until he finds a cluster of department stores. They're bright and loud like nothing he's ever seen, and he walks out of one with a thick black coat and a pocket full of granola bars. He moves his pictures into one of the big interior pockets and calls Sherry.

"Hi, Jake."

"Hey. I said 'soon', didn't I?"

"You're here?" She sounds excited and it makes him smile.

"Yeah, I'm a couple of days out. Thought it'd make a good Christmas present."

"I wanted an iPod, but I guess a girl's got to settle sometimes." She's grinning, he can hear it in her voice. "Do you think you can make it here by Christmas Eve? Claire's having a little get-together and I'd love if you could meet her."

Jake's smiles falls a little, but only a little.

"Chris'll probably be there too, huh? And Leon, I'm guessing."

"Well... yes, but it won't be a problem for them." She doesn't have to add the _will it be a problem for you?_.

"Sure, I can make it by then. Just don't ask what I have to do to get there."

"Jake, you're already in the country illegally. If I were going to get mad at you, I would have already."

"Fair enough. I've gotta go, but I'll see you soon."

"Okay. Stay safe."

\----

It's 3A.M. on December 24th when Piers gets a phone call. It isn't a number he recognizes. He punches the answer button his thumb and rasps out a groggy and angry _hello?_.

"Nivans, it's Jake. Jake Muller." He's practically shouting into the receiver and the reception is terrible. A variety of questions come to mind, but Piers summarizes them.

"What the hell?"

"Yeah, tell me about it, jackass, no one bothered to tell me you were alive. Listen, it's a goddamn blizzard out here and I'm not going to make it any further tonight. Sherry said you were close and that if I didn't call you for help, she would, so here we fucking are. Let me in, I'm freezing my ass off!"

Piers sits up in bed and glances out the window. The storm had indeed taken a turn for the worse. He throws off his covers and presses his forehead to the glass, straining to see his visitor outside of the apartment building, but the fog and snow are too dense.

"You've got to be kidding me," he mutters. He hangs up on Jake, pulls on a long-sleeved shirt, and walks to his front door, pressing the buzzer to open the front door.

A few minutes later Jake pounds on the door and Piers lets him in, unsure if he's going to welcome Jake in or punch him in the face. He settles on the former when he sees him. He's shaking and drenched.

"Jesus. Come in." Jake moves into the room with his head ducked down. Piers flicks on a light switch and guides Jake into his bedroom.

"Nice p-place," Jake murmurs, teeth chattering. He shrugs off his jacket in halting movements, digging in one of the deep pockets for his photos.

"Thanks," Piers says off-handedly, already rummaging in his drawers for clothes that will fit Jake. "Get out of those clothes."

Jake doesn't bother to protest. He's been awake for 36 hours and he's either close to hypothermia or already there. He shrugs off his shoulder holster, peels off his soaked shirt. He puts the holster and gun on Piers' nightstand along with his photos, checks that his phone is still operational and leaves it with his other essentials. His boots and socks are next to go, followed his pants, the hems completely soaked. He leaves his wet clothes on the floor. His briefs seem to be okay, so he leaves them on. He's tired, _so fucking tired_...

"Put these on."

He does what he's told, trying not to swerve on the spot from exhaustion.

"Kind of pushy, aren't you," he says half-heartedly. He pulls on the thick long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweat pants.

"Get under the covers, but don't lie down."

Jake holds up his hands in mock surrender and does as he's told as Piers sits at the opposite end of the bed, subconsciously tugging his sleeve over his right hand.

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

Jake laughs feebly. "Going to a Christmas party. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Piers lets out a hollow chuckle. "Yeah, I am." He doesn't want to go into it. "How did you get here?'

"Shipping vessel, stole a bike and started heading north. Didn't know you get weather like this here."

"So you're in the country illegally and you drove a stolen vehicle to my apartment."

"Pretty much."

"I don't know what I expected."

Jake smirks. He feels better now that he's dry, and he's starting to warm up. He looks fully at Piers for the first time. He notices his scarred face, his dead eye. The way the scars crawl off of his face and down his neck.

"They said you got infected with C. Gotta say, you could look worse."

Piers lets out a heavy sigh. Jake isn't the type to let something go once he's interested.

"Some of the mutations had to be surgically removed, but the vaccine they made out of your blood took care of most of it. Guess I should be glad I didn't shoot you."

"You don't sound too thrilled about it."

"I don't sound thrilled about much at 3AM." He's deflecting and he knows it. Maybe it's the hour of the morning, maybe it's seeing someone who isn't Chris, but he feels some sort of relief at over Jake turning up. Hell, maybe it's just being able to do something to help someone after six months of doing nothing. He rubs his face. "Sorry, I'm just tired. That, and you annoy me."

"Trust me, pal, I wouldn't be here if I had a choice."

"I'd rather you be here than die of exposure."

"Well, shit. Next thing I know you'll be making me a friendship bracelet."

Piers laughs. Out loud, sincerely, if only for a second. He looks at Jake, who's giving him a look like he's crazy, and laughs again, longer and louder this time.

"Shut the fuck up," he chuckles, standing. "I've got some Swiss Miss in the pantry, should warm you up."

"What the hell is Swiss Miss?"

\----

They talk for two hours. Piers shows Jake his arm, and Jake is impressed that he can move his fingers. They talk about where Jake has been, what he's been doing. Piers listens to him tell a story of taking down a lab in Afghanistan that had been abducting teens from refugee camps. He hears the quiet pride in his voice. Piers climbs under the blankets as the storm rages, and they lament the fact that Piers doesn't have any alcohol. Piers doesn't say that he's afraid he'll drink himself to death.

It's 5:30AM when Piers looks at his watch. He rubs his face for what feels like the thousandth time.

"I'll give you this much, Jake. You're not the same person you were when I met you."

Jake scrapes some of the chocolate residue out of his third mug of Swiss Miss and licks it off his finger.

"Can't say the same for you." Piers looks up. "You're still the same hard-headed jackass I met in Edonia."

"I don't feel the same." He almost says it to himself.

"Trust me. You're lucky to be alive at all and you're pissed off that you can't hold a rifle for a year or two. You haven't changed at all."

Piers just looks at him. It takes Jake a few moments to notice, but once he does, he doesn't look away. Piers feels magnetized to Jake. Jake who thinks everything is a fucking joke. Jake who isn't treating him like he's made of glass, who's treating him the same way he would have before. Who's almost too fucking stubborn to ask for help, but now spends his days helping people who can't ask for it.

Jake can't stop staring at Piers. Piers who survived. Piers who would have killed him if he'd given him a reason, who would have been the first to tell him he needed to change and is here, now, telling him he has. Someone who understands his need to undo his own wrongs. The subtext of their conversation is suddenly the text and they can't turn back. Jake swallows and looks back down at his empty mug.

"You're not broken beyond repair, I guess, is what I'm saying."

"And you're not the monster I thought you were."

It's what each man needs to hear. Jake can tell himself it's sleep deprivation when he lays his head on Piers' shoulder, and Piers can tell himself not to think so much because it's all he's been able to do lately when he lays his head on top of Jake's. They can both say it's been months since they've felt close to anyone when they get closer. They can pretend it's because neither has had sex in months when they turn their heads toward each other and lose their breath at the proximity. It's the first time Jake has ever tasted Swiss Miss, and it's the first time Piers has tasted Swiss Miss on someone else's lips. They're both gentle at first, almost afraid, then Jake's hand is in Piers' hair and Piers grabs Jake's wrist, pulling him closer. Piers needs Chris to lead him, Jake needs Sherry's unconditional kindness, but right now they're content to see and be seen by each other.

Jake pulls Piers on top of him and groans when they grind against each other, arching up to keep up the friction. Piers pins Jake's wrists above his head without thinking, grinning into the kiss when he's able to keep a grip with his right hand. Jake wants to say something snarky about how hard Piers is, but he can't inhale long enough to find the words, so he bucks up to make his point. They stop making excuses and just _feel_ , all motion and emotion, hate and acceptance, gratitude and desperation. Jake feels hot and alive under Piers and he drinks it in, because he's felt like a corpse for so long, and he can feel every inch of himself against Jake and somehow it's still not enough. Neither can think beyond this, beyond being warm and close. Jake yanks his hands free and shoves them under Piers' shirt, grabs his waist, rolls their hips together. The angle and motion are agonizingly perfect, and they both dissolve into a rutting frenzy of throaty noises and biting kisses.

Jake comes first, fingernails clawing against Pier's hips and repeating the words _fuck_ and _Piers_ with equal frequency and fervor. Piers isn't far behind, the low rumble of Jake's curses shooting down his spine like electricity. Jake leans up and nips at his neck as he comes, and they collapse together, boneless and spent, faces buried in each others' necks.

They stay like that so long that they both fall asleep, deep and, for once, dreamless.

\----

The morning starts awkward. They both wake up to the sound of Jake's cell (Sherry calling to make sure he's alive). They don't talk much, aside from Jake's mumbled questions about where towels are, how the shower works. Piers showers first and makes breakfast. When Jake tries to eat one of his granola bars instead of the bacon and eggs, Piers smacks it out of his hand and gives him a plate. Jake mutters _jackass_ and Piers growls back _ungrateful bastard_.

The day goes uphill from there.


End file.
